


Put a Spell On You

by dancinginthecenteroftheworld



Series: The Winterfell Neighborhood Association [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Halloween, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Jaime Lannister Is Extra, Modern Era, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, so this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinginthecenteroftheworld/pseuds/dancinginthecenteroftheworld
Summary: What if Winterfell was a neighborhood block association full of interesting neighbors who get a little bit too into the holidays?It's Brienne Tarth's first Halloween in her house with her three new and surprisingly awesome roommates. Winterfell gets WAY too into Halloween, and Jaime Lannister is super competitive about yard decorations.  Also he's been acting weird and extra dedicated to annoying her lately.Yeah, think Stars Hollow-esque quirkiness meets a modern AU. In North Carolina, for funsies.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to maevewren, beta extraordinaire who managed to get through this even though I sent it to her this morning! And assumed I'd be posting after Halloween. 
> 
> This was meant to post over October, but that didn't happen so you get it all tonight. Yay? Yay.
> 
> It will be part of a series of non-chronological stories about this neighborhood because for some reason I am obsessed with this idea.
> 
> It's weird, kind of cracky and fluffy, but I do hope you enjoy.

The smartest thing Brienne Tarth has ever done is using her inheritance money as a down payment on a house. She’d been so full of grief she had been tempted to ignore the money entirely, but practicality won out. Not having to worry about rent and landlords eased stress she hadn’t even realized she was carrying.

The second smartest thing she’s done is having her roommates move in. 

She’d sworn to never live with people again after college, but then the roof started leaking and the estimate to repair it was so high she had to sit down before she passed out just reading it. Coincidentally, her best friend had mentioned that his boyfriend’s sister urgently needed a new place to live after leaving her abusive boyfriend and it wasn’t like Brienne was going to turn her back on that.

And the money would be a big help.

When she’d first met Margaery Tyrell, she’d assumed they’d hate each other and the woman would stay only as long as it took her to find a new living arrangement.

Except that while Margaery looks like she could be a model and turns the heads of all the men (and not a few women) she meets, she is actually nice, even to ugly, oafish Brienne. 

Three years later, she’s still here and so are Dany Targaeryen and Gilly Craster, who moved in as well when they needed to escape bad situations. 

The four of them are absolutely nothing alike and it shouldn’t work at all, but it does. Gilly is the only one Brienne would have imagined being friends with, although they’d probably both be too shy for it to ever actually happen if they hadn’t been housemates.

Of course, being friends doesn’t mean living together is always simple or easy.

“It needs more blood,” Dany says, hands on her hips as she considers the pile of skeleton, ghoul and zombie decorations she’s heaped on the ground in front of the porch. 

For someone whoes cascade of platinum curls and violet eyes make her look like a fairy princess, Daenerys is disturbingly blood-thirsty. 

Margaery rolls her eyes. “Blood and guts is just gross. We need to go spooky!” 

“You don’t want to terrify the kids,” Gilly says, clutching a pile of corn stalks. 

“Yes we do!” Margaery and Dany chorus in unison.

Brienne tries to remember if last Halloween had been this awful.

It hadn’t, she thinks, probably because Gilly wasn’t here then – she just moved in last month – and Margaery had been too busy working on Renly’s campaign to care if Dany decorated the front porch with blood and guts. 

Brienne doesn’t know why they can’t just carve a couple pumpkins, turn the light on, and hand out candy like normal people. 

“We have to have a theme,” Dany is insisting. “We did not bring our A game last year and we totally got overshadowed by everyone else on the street.”

“We have time,” Brienne tries. “It’s still September.”

Three glares are directed her way. 

“And get behind?!” Dany screeches. She waves her hand at the street. “I will not allow us to be shamed again.”

Okay, so they aren’t the only ones standing outside with piles of decorations. Brienne wonders if she would have chosen this house had she known the street was full of competitive holiday decorators, all determined to one-up each other. 

It’s not at all what she’d expected from the neighborhood of stately Victorians, even if many of them are in need of some work. She could have gotten a place that didn’t need as much fixing up, but she loves the sprawling house that reminds her of her childhood home.

Even if the realtor had inquired (several times) if it wasn’t a bit much for one person. 

Brienne isn’t surprised to see some of her neighbors out. The Starks, Mormonts, and Reeds have kids, so that makes sense. And she knows the Starks own and rent the houses on either side of theirs to kids with unfortunate backgrounds who’ve aged out of the foster system, so it’s not surprising that they’d want them to have the holiday experience too. The Greyjoys seem to be pretty much permanent tenants in their house (especially now that the oldest Stark son is dating Theon Greyjoy, although everyone pretends not to know since he hasn’t come out yet) but the other one has a rotating group of young adults. 

The two rentals occupied by college students don’t surprise her either. They’re basically still kids, for the most part, and the house next door, a group who call themselves Dothraki (whatever that means, though Brienne is pretty sure they’re some kind of gang) haven’t grown out of their partying ways, despite being her age, so that makes sense too.

It’s Halloween, so the creepy cult house and the creepy Bolton family make sense too because, well, creepy. 

But she’s shocked to see Stannis Baratheon, Varys, and the Lannister brothers outside as well. Stannis is not someone she would ever associate with the words fun or frivolity – though he does have a daughter, so maybe it’s not so surprising after all. Varys and the Lannister brothers both seem to be the type to consider themselves above such things. She’s always been under the impression that both households simply hired a decorator and told them to make things appropriately festive.

Brienne forces her attention back to the argument in front of her house.

“Okay,” she finally says. “We’ll divide it up. Dany, you take the right half of the lawn, Marge, you take the left. Gilly, you do the porch. That way little kids who don’t want to be scared can get candy and the older ones can wander through the scary stuff.”

Everyone seems reasonably satisfied with that idea, Dany hauling her skeletons over to the side and sitting down to sort them out. She pulls out a marker and starts making a list on her arm. 

Margaery starts surveying her side of the yard and mumbling under her breath as she checks what trees and bushes she has to work with.

Gilly comes to stand next to Brienne. “I have a few things you had in the basement,” she says. “But we should get some more. I was thinking maybe we could go to a pumpkin patch? Could be a fun bonding activity.”

“Sure,” Brienne agrees. Bonding activities. If you told her three years ago she’d be doing bonding activities with her pretty housemates, she’d have laughed herself silly. 

“I love fall,” Margaery sighs, looking up and down the street. 

The Starks are milling around, looking straight out of a clothing ad, all plaid flannel and jeans and boots. They do a haunted house every year, and it’s one of the reasons their street gets kids coming from all over King’s Landing. The first year, Brienne ran out of candy after just an hour and had to turn off the light. She hadn’t expected to have several hundred kids show up! 

Stannis has a measuring tape, a pencil, and a pad of graph paper in his hand and is making a diagram of some sort. 

Jaime Lannister strolls down the street looking smug, as usual. He’s casting a critical eye on everyone. “I don’t know why you’re bothering,” he tells Margaery. “We’re going to win.”

“It’s not a competition,” Brienne says, rolling her eyes.

The oldest Lannister brother moving in had been an interesting experience. She has no idea why he’s living with his brother when he can certainly afford his own place, probably in a much nicer neighborhood, but he’s stuck around. 

What’s worse is that he’s somehow decided she’s particularly fun to annoy. 

“Everything’s a competition,” Jaime says, green eyes sparkling with mischief. With the morning sun making his blond hair almost glow and a face that looks like it should be on a Greek statue, he’s annoyingly perfect-looking. 

Especially next to Brienne, who is still in the grubby Westeros Fire Department tee shirt and cargo pants she wore home from her latest shift and promptly fell asleep in. 

As usual, Jaime is invading her personal space, standing so close she can feel the heat radiating off his body. 

Brienne steps sideways, but he just follows, grinning over at her. 

“What if we made it one?” Asha Greyjoy has drifted over, coffee cup in her hand. 

“Made it what?” Dany asks.

“A competition.” Asha grins. “Best house wins.” 

“What are the stakes?” Now Maege Mormont is joining the competition. She’s one of the older folks on the block and Brienne has always appreciated her no-nonsense approach to things. 

“A year of yardwork,” Asha suggests.

“Ugh, no,” Margaery says. “Bragging rights.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Money.” 

“From where?” Maege asks, ever practical. 

“We all throw in a bit, winner takes it,” Dany offers. 

Ned Stark, who has joined the conversation, frowns at him. “No, that’s not fair,” he says.

Jaime rolls his eyes again, this time nudging Brienne in the side. 

“A gourmet meal,” Varys’ voice from behind her shoulder makes Brienne jump. The man has, once again, managed to sneak up on her unnoticed. “Catered by Hot Pie – he went to Le Courdon Bleu, you know. And perhaps we could entice Walda to make one of her cakes.”

Everyone considers that. Walda Frey-Bolton is a bit much for most people and her husband is downright terrifying, but her cakes… her cakes are awesome. 

“That seems reasonable,” Ned says. “If Hot Pie won’t mind.”

Varys smiles serenely. “He won’t.” 

Hot Pie is the latest young tenant, a man who is less beautiful than Varys’ usual type (he’s rather chubby) but not bad looking. Brienne had wondered why he’d been chosen after Daario was evicted, but this makes a lot of sense.

The only thing Varys likes more than looking at beautiful young men is eating. 

Asha shouts the rest of the block over, and when they’re gathered, Ned explains the proposition. 

“What if we did more than a contest?” Walda says, excitedly. 

“How, dear?” Catelyn Stark asks, her smile becoming slightly forced. 

“We could do other things!” Walda’s excitement is undiminished. “Like … movie nights! Aemon still has that blow-up screen from a couple of years ago! And a block party the Saturday before.”

It’s not the _worst_ idea Walda has ever had.

“Horror movies!” Qhoho and Pono, two of the Dothraki from next door, shout.

“_Hocus Pocus_!” Missandei, who lives in the house full of college women, suggests. “And _Practical Magic_!”

“A bonfire?” Melisandre suggests.

“What about fireworks?” Gendry asks. He’s one of Catelyn’s former clients. All of the Dothraki and most of the students in the Night’s Watch perk up at that idea. 

“Well,” Ned says. “Why don’t those of us on the committee get together tonight and hash out a schedule.” 

Brienne quietly thanks all the lucky stars that her term on the neighborhood planning board ended last year. 

“This is going to be great,” Margaery says. “You’re going down, Lannister!”

“Not a chance,” Jaime says. He smirks at her, then turns to Brienne.

“You know, we could make this more interesting,” he says. “A private wager.”

“Why?” Brienne asks. She doesn’t know what he’s getting from needling her. “I don’t have anything you could want.”

“I don’t know,” Jaime says, being annoyingly cryptic. “I could think of something.”

“Besides,” Brienne continues. “Aren’t things already getting a little ridiculous?” 

“Loosen up, Tarth,” Jaime says. “You need to learn how to have fun.” 

“I have plenty of fun,” she says.

Jaime barks out a laugh. “Not from what I’ve seen. Imagine what might happen if you really let go.”

It is, Brienne thinks, going to be a very long month.

Ned emails everyone the next day. The neighborhood committee has decided that Winterfell will be going all-out for October, with a series of movie nights, a bonfire, a pumpkin carving contest, a block party and a fireworks show, in addition to the lawn decorating contest.

Brienne has somehow been roped into planning fireworks, probably in hopes of not setting things on fire and smoothing any permit issues over with the fire chief. Because Ned Stark thinks her boss likes her a lot more than her boss actually does. 

“Missandei’s already suggesting _Hocus Pocus_, right?” Gilly asks, reading the email on her phone. “They’re taking requests for movie nights.” 

“Wouldn’t hurt to suggest it twice,” Margaery says. 

“Amuck!” Dany shrieks, bouncing across the living room. “Amuck, amuck, amuck!”

“The fourth looks pretty free,” Gilly continues. “What do you guys say to hitting a pumpkin patch then?”

“Oh, yes!” Dany says. “I’ll bring my camera.” 

Brienne wonders if it’s too late to hide for the entire month.

Her roommates aren’t the only ones running headlong into fall. As she leaves, Brienne notices Asha Greyjoy building what appears to be a pirate ship on her front lawn, while Gendry is scaling the walls of their house with a large bundle of fake cobwebs and the Reed children set up a series of fake gravestones. 

Down the block, she can see some sort of large tent being erected in Varys’ yard. 

It’s purple, unsurprisingly.

By the time she gets home from work, the street looks like Halloween is tomorrow instead of weeks away and she almost runs into the sidewalk when she gets distracted by Jaime Lannister hauling a literal horse-drawn hearse into his yard. 

He jogs over to her window before she can get away.

"Is that a hearse?" Brienne blurts out, staring out her window. 

"Genuine antique," Jaime says, leaning his arms on the door, grinning at her. He smells like expensive cologne, which makes Brienne all too aware of the fact that she probably smells like smoke and cheap body wash from the station. 

"Where did you find ... you know what, never mind," Brienne says, putting the truck in gear and hoping he'll get the hint.

He doesn't.

Jaime just smirks at her, unmoving. 

“Halloween is all about death,” Jaime says. “Though I prefer the little death, you know.”

Brienne stares at him.

“That’s what the french call orgasm,” Jaime says, smirking at her.

"How lovely for them," Brienne says, rolling her eyes. "Now move before I run over your foot."

“Lovely? Really?” Jaime frowns at her. “What losers have you been sleeping with, Brienne?”

“None of your business.”

“If all you’re saying is lovely,” Jaime says, imitating her dry tone. “Then you really need to make some better choices.”

Brienne can feel the blush creeping up her neck. Of course Jaime can joke about these things. Jaime is gorgeous and probably has women tripping over themselves to get into his bed. 

“You know,” Jaime says, “The hearse is plenty roomy. I could offer a demonstration if you like …”

Brienne ignores the curl of heat in her stomach at his words. Jaime isn’t the first man to joke about bedding her when she knows that such a thing would never happen and that if she says yes, he’ll only burst into laughter at the idea that he’d ever do such a thing. 

It’s a big joke to men like him, all of it. 

“That’s a hearse,” she says, instead of yelling. “Where dead bodies have been. That’s disgusting.”

Jaime just shrugs. “I’m sure it’s been cleaned. But I’m open to alternate venues.”

Brienne ignores him, putting the truck into drive and forcing him to scramble backwards or get his toes run over.

October hasn’t even started and she’s ready for it to end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie nights and pumpkin patches.

Work means that Brienne misses the first half of _Ghostbusters_ (the new one, at Arya's insistence) on Friday. All she really wants to do is go home and sleep because last night had been full of calls, most of them bullshit but still yanking her out of sleep every twenty minutes. 

But Margaery won’t take no for an answer, because Margaery insists that Brienne needs to be more social and do fun things. 

Sleep is very fun after twelve hours at the fire station, but Margaery won’t take that for an answer either.

Brienne is just settling down on the blanket Gilly spread on the ground when she catches a hint of familiar cologne and Jaime drops down next to her.

"Evening, wench," he says with a grin.

Apparently October is a month for Jaime Lannister to be particularly annoying.

No, that’s all months, really. 

Brienne really doesn’t know why Jaime has decided that she’s the one to pester, but he’s clearly singled her out as the recipient of his bizarre attempts at friendship. Or mocking. She’s still not really sure which it is.

"Ready for the scary movies to start?" he asks, scooting closer to her. 

"Sure," Brienne says, trying to move closer to Margaery so he has more room. But Margaery refuses to budge and Jaime hooks his arm around her waist to keep her from going.

"Don't leave me," he says with a fake pout. "How else will you hide your face during the scary parts?"

Brienne snorts at that idea.

Jaime grins. "Okay, how will I hide my face, then?"

"In your hands," Brienne suggests. He hasn't let go of her waist and she feels awkwardly close to him. There's no avoiding the fact that she's taller when they're this close, and she feels the familiar rush of embarrassment about how huge and unfeminine she is. 

"That's not as much fun," Jaime whines, turning to hide his face in her hair in mock fear. 

"Jaime, I'm gross," Brienne protests. The women's locker room at the station had been out of body wash and shampoo – again – and she knows her hair feels like straw and she probably still smells like ambulance and smoke. 

Jaime sniffs her hair dramatically. "Seems fine to me."

“You’re weird.” 

“Yes,” he agrees. “But you like it. C’mon, cuddle with me.”

“Don’t you have someone else to cuddle with?” Brienne asks. She hasn’t missed how most of the single women on the street look at Jaime like he’s their dream.

Jaime just grins at her.

Brienne feels herself tensing up, waiting for the punchline of whatever joke he’s playing, but it doesn’t come. Jaime simply settles next to her, keeping his arm draped around her waist. He keeps leaning closer and whispers commentary in her ear for the rest of the movie and then the entirety of _Rosemary's Baby_. 

Brienne finally gets fed up and slaps her hand over his mouth just as Rosemary is biting into a piece of raw liver on screen. "Hush," she says.

Jaime does, but only briefly, and then licks a hot, wet stripe across the palm of her hand until she jerks away, glaring at him while she wipes her palm on her jeans. 

"Very mature," Brienne says. 

Jaime waggles his tongue at her, and Brienne hopes it's dark enough to hide how she blushes when Margaery mumbles something under her breath about putting it to better use. Brienne doesn’t know if Jaime hears her or not, but Brienne has to work very hard to keep that mental image out of her head.

Then it turns out Jaime does actually hide his face in her neck when Linda Blair starts spewing pea soup and rotating her neck 360 degrees in _The Exorcist_, which makes Brienne laugh. 

"It's not funny," Jaime mumbles into her skin.

Brienne hopes he can't feel the tiny shiver that runs through her when his lips accidentally brush against her skin. 

She knows Jaime is just joking and that her blushing and stumbling awkwardness make her an easy target, but that doesn't change the fact that he is an extremely good-looking man. Brienne has always had a weakness for pretty men and although she knows that none of them will ever see her as anything other than one of the guys, she's not made of stone.

It doesn't help when Jaime is wrapped around her like this, head resting on her shoulder, smelling spicy and appealing in a way that makes Brienne want to bury her face in his neck and never leave.

From the looks Dany and Margaery are giving her, Brienne isn't going to hear the end of this for quite some time. 

Sure enough, when they get to the house, both girls are on her. 

"Soooo," Margaery says, smirking. "That was interesting."

"Very interesting," Dany agrees. "Very cuddly. Weren't they close, Gilly?"

Gilly gives them both a weird look. "Aren't people usually when they're dating?"

Brienne blushes to the roots of her hair. 

"We're not dating," she says. 

Gilly looks surprised.

"Are you sure about that?" Margaery asks.

"I think I'd know," Brienne says. 

"Would you though?" Dany asks. 

Brienne scowls. "Yes, I would know if I'm dating someone."

"Because, I mean, traditionally you're kind of oblivious to people liking you," Margaery says. 

"People don't like me," Brienne says.

"See, that's what we're talking about!" Dany throws up her hands. 

"Gilly thought you were dating," Margaery adds.

Gilly looks cornered. 

"You do seem very close," she says apologetically. 

"We're ... kind of friends," Brienne says. "That's all."

Dany snorts. Loudly.

"Look, you're very sweet," Brienne says. She tries to keep the pain from showing in her voice. "But I know what I look like and I know that men aren't interested in me. And I'm tired, and I just want to go to bed."

Margaery looks like she'll argue, but wraps Brienne in a hug instead, Gilly and Dany joining her. 

"We just love you," Margaery says, her voice muffled by Brienne's tee shirt. "And we want you to see yourself the way we do." 

Her housemates are very kind, but Brienne wishes they wouldn't try so hard to get her hopes up. She knows better, knows what kind of crushing disappointment comes if she's ever stupid enough to assume a man could be interested in her, but there's still a part of her that wants desperately to believe what Margaery and Daenerys say is true.

Margaery knows that, knows Brienne has a secret soft spot for Jane Austen movies and fairy tales. Her friends aren't trying to be cruel, Brienne knows, but they can't understand what it's like to live knowing that you are not ever going to be swept off your feet by your prince or princess.

Brienne accepted her reality long ago, but it still hurts sometimes. 

Gilly has them all up far too early the next day, which is the only explanation for why Brienne lets Margaery rummage through her closet in search of the perfect pumpkin patch outfit.

Because that is apparently a thing. 

At least she's gotten away with a sweater and jeans and terribly impractical boots, while Margaery is shivering in a tank top and shorts topped only with a flannel shirt. 

"Fashion," she says. "These photos are going to be great on GreenseerGram."

The drive to the farm isn’t too far, and Dany and Gilly keep up a stream of chatter while Margaery types away on her phone. 

The farm is undoubtedly beautiful, with fields of pumpkins on the vine waiting to be picked, a stack of red wagons to transport them, and stands with food and other items for sale. 

Dany is insistent at getting pictures of all of them. Brienne doesn't understand why that's such an important aspect of this, when it would be perfectly nice to just pick out pumpkins and other decorations for the house.

But Dany and Margaery insist that she’s not exempt, even though Brienne doesn’t have a GreenseerGram and has no intention of getting one.

"Everyone will love these," Dany says, while forcing Brienne to lie awkwardly on a pile of leaves. 

“Nobody is going to see them,” Brienne says.

Dany laughs. “I’ll get one you won’t mind me posting,” she says. “I promise.”

The leaves are crunching around, and Brienne hears a muffled squeal from Margaery that gives her a feeling of dread.

She really does love Margaery, but that sound from her friend’s mouth never amounts to anything good. Not for Brienne, anyway, who has a very different idea of fun than her housemate.

"New modeling career?" Jaime's voice drifts over, leaves crunching under his feet as he approaches, and Brienne squeezes her eyes shut.

Maybe if she keeps them closed this won't be happening. 

"Jaime!" Margaery squeals. "You made it! And you have coffee!"

"And tea," Jaime says, his voice closer. Something nudges Brienne's shoulder, and when she opens her eyes, he's kneeling in the stupid leaves next to her, holding out a to-go mug. 

Dany's camera clicks from behind him.

“Margaery said you might need some caffeine,” Jaime says. He looks amused, and Brienne wonders what sight she must make.

"I'm sorry they dragged you here," Brienne says, propping herself up on her elbows to take the proffered drink. 

The smile that spreads across Jaime's face is slow and easy. She’s close enough to see the way the corners of his eyes crinkle, somehow making him even more handsome. 

"It'll be fun," he says, looking at her with an unfamiliar expression.

It makes Brienne uncomfortably aware of how close they are, and she turns her face to the side, blushing. 

She feels, rather than hears, Jaime's sigh.

Dany doesn’t let her escape, and Brienne is covered with leaves when she gets up. Jaime bursts out laughing, and she scowls at him as she tries to get the bulk of it off.

“You look like a tree,” Jaime tells her, brushing dead leaves off her back. 

“And I’m tall enough to be one too, right?” Brienne says. “Very funny.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jaime says. “It’s just – come on, you have to admit it’s funny.”

Jaime, of course, looks like a model when Dany lures him in front of the camera. 

Once Dany is satisfied with her results, they do get a collection of pumpkins, gourds, and other fall ephemera for Gilly's porch decor. They also stuff their faces with kettle corn and apple cider donuts, which nearly makes up for the earlier humiliation.

Gilly and Dany both act like children, running around and climbing trees and taking pictures of everything. It makes Brienne feel self-conscious, but she feels ashamed for it when she hears them talking about how much they wish they'd been allowed to do this type of thing when they were young.

Brienne forgets, sometimes, how lucky she was to grow up with a loving father and carefree childhood. 

"I'm glad we're doing this," Margaery says, linking her arm with Brienne's. "I like doing stuff together."

"Me too," Brienne admits. "Even the neighborhood Halloween stuff."

"What’s wrong with the neighborhood stuff?" Jaime asks. 

"Most neighborhoods do not do this," Brienne tells him. "We're kind of absurd."

"It's a fun kind of absurd, though," Margaery says. 

"Get some holiday spirit, wench," Jaime says, bumping Brienne's hip with his.

"Why?" Brienne grumbles.

“We really need to get you familiar with this ‘fun’ concept,” Jaime says. He leans closer, close enough that she can feel his breath on her skin when he whispers in her ear. “I promise you it’ll be worth it.” 

Most of the neighborhood seems to share Jaime’s view. About Halloween, at least, because even Margaery isn’t as dedicated to trying to drag Brienne into things as Jaime is lately.

Brienne meets with Drogo and Pia to work out the fireworks logistics. Catelyn has sent Pia with a list of considerations, which she dutifully recites. Brienne isn't sure Drogo hears a word of it, though, because he's busy watching Dany work on creating one of her decorations, a bloody torso with uncomfortably realistic guts hanging out. 

One of her green iguanas is perched on her shoulder. 

“So we should probably do something small,” Pia concludes. 

"But it doesn't have to be," Drogo says. 

"You can't buy anything that flies or explodes," Brienne reminds him.

"Not here," Drogo says, smirking. "Unless you're gonna narc on us."

Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose. For some reason the Dothraki house refuse to believe firefighters aren't part of the police force.

"Look, if you want to drive to South Carolina, that's your call," she says. "But let's _try_ not to set anything on fire?"

"We can do it near the pond," Drogo suggests, because he's not actually a complete idiot. "And if it's dry, we'll get sprinklers and wet the ground ahead of time."

“I’ll tell Catelyn,” Pia says. 

"Whatever" Drogo says, shrugging. He turns his attention towards Dany. "What are you using for your fake blood?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Dany says, laying the half-corpse down on some towels. "I'm not giving away our secrets."

"Why bother," Drogo says, leaning back and not-so-subtly flexing his muscles. "We're going to beat you."

"Promises," Daenerys says, arching her eyebrow.

“Oh, I can promise you something,” Drogo says. He stretches in a way that makes his shirt ride up, exposing his admittedly very impressive abs.

“Many men promise,” Dany says, leaning over just enough to display her cleavage. “So few deliver.”

Brienne leaves before their flirting can get any more nauseating. The street is looking even crazier lately – Asha has finished the Greyjoy yard already, because she's about to head out for her two weeks on ship and doesn't trust Theon to do it. 

Which is fair, because Theon really can't be trusted to do much of anything. So when she steps out on the porch, Brienne is greeted by a massive, half-sunk pirate ship surrounded by tentacles, with a crew of skeleton pirates on it. 

It would be the most impressive yard so far, but the Lannisters have added a piano to their hearse, the Night's Watch has an honest-to-god car (or the remains of one) in theirs, and Varys has a collection of tarps covering something that's sure to be over the top. 

Brienne still doesn't know what's wrong with carving a couple of pumpkins and calling it a day.

"Enjoying the sights?" 

Jaime must have radar, that's the only possible explanation for how he manages to pop up and annoy her at every turn.

"Mm," Brienne says noncommittally, which of course he takes as an invitation to come sit next to her.

"Why do you hate holidays?" Jaime asks her.

"I don't hate them," Brienne says. "It's just excessive."

"But that's the fun."

"Everything doesn't have to be about drawing attention to yourself," she snaps, and then feels bad when Jaime looks wounded.

"It doesn't have to be about fading into the background either," Jaime says, poking her leg for emphasis.

"I don't fade," Brienne says. She wishes she could, but as tall and odd as she is, there's never a chance of going unnoticed.

"You try," Jaime says. "You shouldn't. People should see you."

Brienne turns red. She expects him to follow it up with a joke, but he doesn't, instead just leans his head against her knee and sits there with her in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya likes the new ghostbusters, because women are kicking ass. Margaery likes it because Holtzmann. 
> 
> I really waffled about including Rosemary's Baby. The book is amazing and the film is well done, though I also hate to support anything Roman Polanski makes. But it seems like the kind of classic a neighborhood would include without considering that. 
> 
> North Carolina does not allow fireworks that go in the air. South Carolina definitely does, and lots of people go across the border to buy them. It's all fun and games until one lights up and starts chasing your grandmother around the yard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonfires and broken arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied! You're 100% getting these first three chapters tonight, but the remaining two might have to wait a day or two. Let's think of it as extending the holiday

Something really is strange about Jaime, Brienne thinks, after another Friday of him sticking to her like a burr.

"He likes you," Margaery says. She throws one of the clothespins she's using to hang up some sort of ghost decoration in Brienne’s general direction.

"He –"

"Don't you dare say he can't," Dany warns, looking vaguely murderous. It's helped by the fact that she's holding a large knife, which may or may not be fake.

“He does seem to like you,” Gilly agrees from where she’s arranging a pile of dried corn stalks next to the door.

The street is beginning to look festive. The Reeds have finished the spooky graveyard, though Jojen frequently rearranges the skeletons scattered throughout the fake tombstones. Stannis’ yard is done too, although Davos had gently liberated the graph paper and distracted Stannis so Shireen could have fun doing it herself.

It’s the house that looks most like anything Brienne remembers from childhood. More mysterious tents have cropped up at Varys’s place, and the Lannisters have added a figure wearing an honest-to-god plague mask to the yard, along with an increasingly elaborate series of ghosts in elaborate costumes. 

By the time they need to get to the bonfire, the yard is finished to everyone's satisfaction. Gilly has the porch looking like a postcard for a midwest Harvest, while Margaery is satisfied with her ghostly creations. Brienne is frankly disturbed by the amount of fake blood and gore Danaery has managed to cram into her area of the yard, but Dany looks thrilled.

Brienne is surprised to see the Mormont's house adorned with colorful and cartoonish monster decorations. Lyanna is sitting on the porch, finishing wrapping some fuzzy purple stuff around a porch railing.

"Aw, that's cute!" Margaery gushes.

Dany frowns. "I thought you'd go for something scarier."

"Halloween isn't scary," Lyanna says calmly. "The fact that we're living on a dying planet and the world has more than 13,000 nuclear weapons is scary. Halloween should be fun."

Brienne blinks at her.

"Right," Gilly says. "Well that's ... great."

By the time they reach the park, the bonfire is roaring and it's beginning to get dark. It seems like the whole block has turned out, which is more than Brienne expected, considering how unpopular Melisandre and Thoros are.

Someone has brought supplies for s'mores and ten-year-old Rickon Stark's face is already covered in chocolate smears and marshmallow goo. Theon has, regrettably, brought his guitar and is strumming away.

He's being glared at by Thoros, who is staring into the fire and making random pronouncements that nobody can hear over the guitar and shrieking children. 

Catelyn is ladling mugs of hot chocolate off to one side, and Brienne is heading to get one to cope with the sudden drop in temperature when she's intercepted.

"Here," Jaime says, handing her a mug. 

Brienne blinks.

"Oh, I can get my own," she says.

"Or you can have this one."

"I'm sure Tyrion or Tysha doesn't need me taking their drink," Brienne says. "Or whoever you were getting it for."

"I was getting it for you," Jaime says, rolling his eyes. 

Then he's grabbing her elbow and tugging her towards the fire. Brienne catches Margaery gesturing emphatically at her behind Jaime's back, while Gilly gives her a thumbs up.

Dany has found Drogo, and apparently they've talked since the fireworks meeting, because they're too busy being attached at the lips for Dany to notice anything going on around her.

Jaime doesn't appear to notice any of it, grinning and gesturing to one of the logs that's been set out for people to sit on, where he's already gathered supplies for s'mores.

"I saved a spot for us," Jaime says.

Brienne takes a sip of her hot chocolate to keep from having to respond, and almost chokes when she tastes it.

"Did you spike this?" she ask, sputtering.

"Of course," Jaime says. "It's a bonfire." 

"Do you know how many injuries are caused by alcohol and bonfires?" Brienne takes another sip anyway.

"I'm sure you're far too responsible to get that drunk," Jaime tells her. 

"I'm not sure about the rest of them," Brienne mutters, looking over to see several of the Night's Watch and a couple Dothraki shotgunning beers.

Jaime is hovering just as much as the night before, as they watch the fire and eat an atrocious amount of sugar. Brienne has always had a weakness for burnt marshmallows, and after a while gives up on s'mores in favor of eating toasted marshmallows straight.

It's cozy, even with Thoros bellowing about omens and Melisandre skulking around in a dress so low-cut Brienne is afraid she's going to have a wardrobe malfunction at any moment.

As the kids wander off when it grows later – or in Rickon's case, suddenly fall dead asleep on the ground, half-eaten chocolate bar clutched in one hand – Brienne notices that people seem to be pairing off. 

Cat and Ned are snuggling next to the fire, looking like newlyweds even though they've been married for over 30 years. Dany and Drogo have made their way to a dark corner to continue making out and Brienne is pretty sure she saw Margeary slipping away with Tyene Sand. Gilly is engaged in conversation with Sam Tarly, who's looking at her like she hung the moon. Even Stannis and Davos look more affectionate than usual, although that mostly means holding hands while sitting at a dignified distance.

The people who haven't found someone to flirt with (or more) have grouped off to one side to drink, tell ghost stories, or in the case of Maege Mormont and Sandor Clegane, have some sort of bizarrely intense arm-wrestling competition.

Brienne is alarmed to realize that she and Jaime seem to be in the area that's quietly been colonized by canoodling lovers. She can't stop herself from blushing at the thought.

Jaime, of course, notices and laughs softly in her ear. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, his voice close enough to send shivers down her spine.

"Nothing."

"That's a very interesting shade of red for nothing," Jaime says. He slips an arm around her waist, tugging her even closer. "Cold?"

"No," Brienne says, though she shivers again when she feels him start to trace circles on the side of her hip.

Jaime hums in response. 

"The fire's nice, don't you think," he says, after a moment. "Romantic."

"I guess."

"You don't like romance?" Jaime quirks an eyebrow at her.

"I wouldn't know," Brienne says. 

Jaime sighs. 

"I'm sure it's very nice," Brienne says, because he looks disappointed. "Oh – I can – if there's someone you're wanting to – I can go."

She starts to pull away but Jaime just holds on more tightly.

"Brienne," he says, and then shakes his head.

Then, before Brienne can really process what's happening, Jaime is kissing her.

It isn't that Brienne's never been kissed before. But it was a long time ago and she was pretty drunk and while the hot chocolate had a definite kick to it, she isn't drunk now. 

She's suddenly terribly self-conscious about all of it, about trying to follow the movements of Jaime's lips (soft and warm and tasting like sugar) and wondering where she's supposed to put her hands. Jaime still has his arm wrapped around her waist, and he's slid his other hand to the back of her neck, pulling her close, and it feels like her skin is almost burning where he touches, but in the best way. 

"Brienne," Jaime sighs, when he pulls away for a second before coming back to her.

It's soft and slow and nothing like the terrible, humiliating awful kiss that Brienne had before, so she lets herself enjoy it, at least for a moment. Jaime's warm and solid and his hair is so soft as she runs her fingers through it, his leg firm and muscled under the hand she rests on his knee.

But when Jaime pulls away from her mouth and stars kissing his way along her jaw, Brienne feels the familiar sense of panic welling up.

There's no reason for Jaime to be kissing her, this doesn't make sense. This is something that happens to other people, beautiful girls like Margaery and Dany, not her, not with someone like Jaime. 

Brienne pulls back, pushing on Jaime's chest – his very nice, very warm, very solid chest – as he leans towards her. 

"I"m sorry," she says, blinking back tears. "You can't – you don't – I'm sorry."

She hears Jaime calling after her as she scrambles away, past the rest of her neighbors, because of course her humiliation is witnessed by everyone, and back into her house.

Rationally, Brienne knows Jaime didn't mean to be cruel. He's arrogant and annoying, but he's never been mean like that, not any of the times she’s expected it. But Jaime is beautiful and confident, there's no reason for him to sink so low as dating someone like her. He was probably just bored, and he thought the fire was romantic and she was there.

Jaime can't understand what it's like for Brienne, that this isn't the kind of thing that happens to her. That it hurts, to get a taste of something like that and know that she'll never have it again.

Brienne isn't the type of woman that men like, that they lust after. Most men don't even bother to be friends with her, she's too unattractive for them to waste even that much attention.

That doesn't mean she doesn't want to know what it's like. She grew up on the same princess stories as every other girl, and the idea of meeting someone who would love her sank into her heart before she grew up and realized it was impossible. 

It's crushing how easy it is, to imagine what it would be like to have that. No matter how old she gets, Brienne can't seem to fully rid herself of unrealistic romantic dreams. Even when she knows it's not going to happen, not looking like she does. 

The moment with Jaime – that brief, sweet taste of what can't be hers – gets under Brienne's skin. She goes out of her way to avoid him, but it still keeps creeping into her mind.

Especially when she walks out of her room a few days after the bonfire and runs smack into Drogo, who is wearing only a pair of boxers.

Drogo is, objectively, very handsome and very muscled, but the brief moment of contact with him, before Brienne rights herself, doesn’t feel nearly as good as Jaime pressed up against her.

She’s still going to have Dany tell him to put more clothes on before leaving her room.

Jaime is in part why Brienne’s distracted enough at work to not pay enough attention to her surroundings. In a house fire that’s bad news, and she gets briefly trapped under a falling beam inside a warehouse fire.

The good news is that her crew pulls her out quickly. Brienne knows she won’t hear the end of it for some time, making a rookie mistake like that, but she’s safe. 

The bad news is she's still dealing with a broken arm and a minor case of smoke inhalation, and she’s quickly bundled into an ambulance and shipped off to the hospital.

Unfortunately, a broken arm makes driving difficult, even if her truck wasn't still at the station, so she is forced to text Margaery and explain what happened and ask for a ride home. 

Brienne hates doing it, especially since it's another neighborhood movie night, but it's too far to walk. 

Plus, the nurses are making noises about not releasing her unless someone is there to pick her up.

Except when she's finally released, with follow-up instructions, a prescription for pain meds, and a stern lecture on not overdoing it, it's not Margaery in the waiting room. 

It's Jaime.

Brienne blinks for several minutes, wondering if the pain meds they'd given her before setting the bone were causing her to hallucinate.

Not only is Jaime present, he looks frantic. Nothing like the casually collected person she's used to seeing. He's in a suit, like he just came from work, but the jacket is tossed over a chair and his sleeves are rolled up, his tie loose. His hair is a mess, like he's been running his fingers through it.

"You're okay," Jaime says, wrapping his arms around her while she stands dumbly outside the treatment area.

Brienne can't help letting out a hiss of pain when he jostles her arm, and Jaime pulls back. 

"You're not Margaery," she says, slowly. 

"She called me," Jaime says. "She was stuck at work, she just said you'd been injured in a fire."

"It's fine," Brienne says, though it's somewhat undermined by the coughing fit that follows. "Just a broken arm."

Jaime pulls her closer again, wrapping his arms around her and carefully avoiding her cast. 

"Say that in the text," he says against her hair. "I was terrified."

Brienne doesn't know what to say to that, so she just shrugs. She's too tired and too medicated to process what's happening, and all she really wants to do is curl up and sleep for about five days. 

It's dark out, when they leave, and Brienne frowns. It had still been afternoon when she got hurt. How long was she in the hospital?

"What time is it?" she manages to get out. 

"It's after nine," Jaime says. "You've been back there for hours."

Brienne wants to ask him how long he's been here, but she falls asleep in the passenger seat almost as soon as the car starts. When Jaime wakes her up, they're at her house, and he's helping her out of the car and up the stairs to her porch.

Normally, Brienne would protest being treated like she's incapable, but she fumbles with her keys several times before Jaime takes them and opens the door.

Brienne expects him to leave then, but Jaime follows her up the stairs to her room. Brienne's bed has never looked so good, and she starts stumbling towards it, thinking of the sleep she’ll be able to get.

Jaime catches her before she can faceplant into her pillow. 

“Whoa,” he says. “Let’s get you changed.” 

Brienne looks down, realizing she’s still in the shorts and tee shirt she wears under her gear. They smell like smoke, probably. Or Brienne smells like smoke. Or her nose is just fucked after the fire, because now that she thinks about it, everything smells like smoke.

Jaime is going through her drawers without being asked, and before Brienne can open her mouth to object, he’s helping her out of her clothes and into a clean shirt and pajama pants. Brienne is just aware enough to consider the fact that he’s seeing her almost naked – he leaves her sports bra and underwear untouched, and oh, of course she’s wearing the boy shorts printed with little slices of pizza – and he’s undressing her, and no man has done either of those things before. 

But she’s dressed again before she can dwell on it, or the feeling of Jaime’s hands, large and warm against her skin when he steadies her, and she’s crawling between the covers. Then she’s not thinking of anything, just giving into the blissful darkness of sleep.

The pain in her arm is what drags Brienne awake. The clock tells her it’s three in the morning, and the room is illuminated only by moonlight coming in through the window.

Brienne is surprised to see Jaime still there, slouched in the armchair, which he’s dragged over to the bed. He’s asleep, one hand clutching the childhood toy that usually occupies the chair, a stuffed manta ray she can’t quite let go of even in adulthood. Mr. Ray is worn and slightly frayed, such a contrast to Jaime’s golden perfection. Even with his shirt and dress pants wrinkled, Jaime looks like he could be on a magazine cover.

He wakes up when Brienne is trying to get out of bed and can’t stifle the cry of pain that comes from moving her arm. 

“What are you doing?” Jaime says, surging forward to steady her in place. 

“Hurts,” Brienne mumbles. 

Jaime’s eyes flit to the clock. 

“I fell asleep,” he says. “I meant to wake you – I had the pharmacy send over your meds, they’re here –”

Brienne can only stare blankly as Jaime bustles around, leaving briefly and returning with a glass of water and her pills.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” she says, after swallowing them, the cool water soothing her still sore throat. 

“Someone has to take care of you,” he says. 

Brienne shrugs. “Not really. I’ve managed worse.”

The noise Jaime makes sounds somewhere between a growl and a sob. 

“Margaery texted me and said you were in the hospital,” Jaime tells her. “I almost had a heart attack, I thought you’d – and I’d not gotten the chance to talk to you, or apologize.”

“Apologize for what?” Brienne asks, sliding back under the covers with a wince. She’s not going to be able to sleep until the pain reliever kicks in, that’s for sure. 

“For the bonfire, for pushing you when … I thought you felt the same way, but,” Jaime shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be having this conversation when you’re medicated.”

“It was nice,” Brienne says, which she would almost certainly never admit to normally.

It’s easier here, in the dark, not having to look at him, with the lingering haze of narcotics making words come easier than usual.

“Then why did you run?” Jaime asks, voice unnaturally quiet.

“It was nice,” Brienne says again. “I can’t get used to it.” 

Jaime is quiet for several moments, the sound of their breathing the only thing in the room.

“I shouldn’t be doing this when you’re not sober,” he says again. “Why can’t you get used to it?”

“I know you were just lonely,” Brienne says, words spilling out despite herself. The pain in her arm is starting to ease and her mind is starting to blur at the edges again. It makes it easier to say these things. “I know you wouldn’t ever look at me otherwise. Nobody does.”

“Do you really think that?” Jaime is still quiet, measured, not like his usual self.

“I know what I look like,” Brienne says. “I learned early on what it means, everyone doesn’t get the fairy tale ending.”

Brienne is absolutely horrified to feel tears start running down her cheeks. 

“Everyone thinks I can’t be a girl because of how I look,” Brienne says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want the same things as other girls. I just can’t have them.” 

Jaime makes a wounded noise.

“It’s okay,” Brienne reassures him. “I know it, and it’s okay, mostly. But it’s better if I don’t know what I’m missing.”

Brienne feels the mattress dip as Jaime sits on the bed next to her. She stares resolutely at the ceiling, aware there’s enough light for him to see the wetness on her cheeks, the pitiful way she’s letting her emotions get the better of her good sense. 

She would never be saying these things out loud, not to Jaime, if she weren’t on meds.

“I wasn’t just lonely,” Jaime says. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over her cheeks, wiping at the tears. “I thought you realized, I thought you knew how much I like you.’

The pills are definitely kicking in, because Brienne is imagining Jaime staring down at her with a look that’s almost tender, like he cares. Imagines him saying that he likes her.

“I’m hallucinating,” Brienne says.

The smile that crosses Jaime’s face is much more familiar.

“You’re not hallucinating,” Jaime says. 

“I thought you just said you liked me,” Brienne says. “These are good drugs. I like these drugs.”

“I’ll tell you I like you again when you’re not medicated,” Jaime says. “This is very real, Brienne.”

Brienne feels the strange urge to giggle, even though she’s still crying a little bit. “Can’t be real,” she says. “But it’s a nice hallucination.”

“I promise it’s not,” Jaime says.

Brienne clutches at his arm when he starts to move. 

“Stay,” she says, because if she’s having delusions, they might as well be good ones. 

“I shouldn’t,” Jaime says, looking at her with that odd, tender expression again.

Her hallucinations don’t even make sense.

“Please,” Brienne says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how they treat a broken arm, so I'm winging it. I've only broken fingers and all that gets you is a splint and some jumbo ibuprofen, if it happens again I'm skipping the doctors and going to Walgreens because it's not worth the co-pay.
> 
> The underpants are Meundies which actually ARE as great as the podcast ads claim and are super cute. I'm currently wearing Star Wars ones. 
> 
> Mr. Ray is based on my friend's kid's stuffie, also named Mr. Ray. He is delightful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baths, pumpkin carving, and advice.

When Brienne wakes up again, the sun is streaming through the window. Her arm is aching, her throat feels like sandpaper and there’s an arm around her waist.

A very masculine arm, with a very expensive watch on its wrist. 

Brienne almost doesn’t want to turn her head, but she can’t help it. 

Jaime looks almost angelic in sleep, his face relaxed and his golden hair falling onto the pillow. There’s a little stubble starting along his jaw, and Brienne is close enough to see where strands of silver are starting to form in his hair. 

She had a dream like this last night, or a hallucination, or something. 

It was very nice.

Brienne doesn’t know if she moves, or if it’s the sun, but Jaime’s eyelids start fluttering open. Brienne braces herself for him to pull away, for the apology, but even when his eyes are open and he’s clearly awake he stays where he is, giving her a soft smile. 

“Good morning,” he says. His voice is rough from sleep and it sends a shiver down Brienne’s spine. 

“Good morning,” she says – or tries to. Her throat is still aching and it comes out as more of a croak. 

Jaime chuckles against her. 

“I’ll get you some water,’ he says, pulling away and getting off the bed. He moves like he belongs here, in her room, which Brienne is suddenly conscious of, all the little pieces of her revealed in the space. 

She’s busy looking around to see if there’s anything too embarrassing; no dirty underwear on the floor, at least. She can’t do anything about the photos from her childhood or the martini glass from her 21st birthday, where Renly had scrawled obscene life advice, or the string of white Christmas lights strung up over her bed. Or the ‘waiting for my Mr. Darcy’ cross stitch Sansa made her for her birthday last year, or the tiara Margaery had forced her to wear at her party that same birthday. Or the fact that her quilt is shades of pink and rose that startle anyone who sees it against Brienne’s large, mannish self. 

Brienne gulps down the water Jaime brings, but frowns at the pills in his hand.

“They gave me the strong stuff,” she says. “It’s making me lose my mind. I’d rather take ibuprofen.”

“You have a broken arm,” Jaime says. 

“So I’ll take a lot of ibuprofen.”

“And you’re not losing your mind,” Jaime says. “Last night was not a hallucination.”

Brienne glares at the pills in his hand. “You don’t know what I was hallucinating,” she says.

“I know what you told me you thought was a hallucination,” Jaime says. “But it was very much real.”

“It can’t be,” Brienne says. She can feel her face heating up. If what she remembers was real, then she told Jaime things that she never should admit. Not to him.

“It is,” Jaime says, sitting next to her again. “And I shouldn’t have had that conversation when you were so out of it, but you were actually talking, so …” 

He shrugs helplessly. 

“I wasn’t lonely,” Jaime says. “I like you, Brienne, and I have for a while now and this is not a hallucination.”

Her arm hurts enough that she knows he’s telling the truth. 

Jaime lets it go, talks her into taking the pain pills with a promise to switch to ibuprofen for the afternoon for the neighborhood pumpkin carving contest, which he insists they still have to go to, and then Brienne is slipping back into the wonderful land of unconsciousness. 

When she wakes up, Jaime is gone but Margaery, Gilly, and Dany are there, looking more smug than Brienne has ever seen. 

“I told you he likes you,” Margaery says.

Brienne scowls. 

“It’s so sweet,” Gilly says. “He wouldn’t leave your side, even when we told him we could look after you.”

Dany starts running her fingers through Brienne’s hair, gently working out tangles. 

“He’s been trying to woo you for weeks,” Dany says. “I thought we were going to have to lock you two in a room.”

“Thank god for Melisandre’s bonfire and narcotics,” Margaery says, then makes a face. “Wow, that’s a thing I never thought I’d say.”

Brienne agrees to let them help her through a bath, cast carefully wrapped in a grocery bag, extremely grateful that Jaime isn’t the one doing this. Especially when it takes all three of them to get her out of a sports bra while causing minimal pain. 

“This is why we cut them off in the ER,” Gilly says. 

Her housemates refuse to let her bathe on her own, and the lure of washing the grime off is too strong for Brienne to keep fighting them. With her right hand in a cast, Brienne is clumsier than usual, and she’s still a bit wobbly from her medication. Normally, Brienne would be horrified to be naked in front of anyone, but they’re kind. Gilly’s used to it, of course, as a nurse, but Margaery and Dany don’t look at Brienne’s body with the kind of scorn and pity she expects. 

Brienne hasn’t been cared for by anyone since she was a small child, and once she moves past the mortification, it’s actually rather nice.

Dany frowns as she starts running a bath, eyeing the 2-in-1 shampoo and bar soap on the edge of the tub. 

“This is not good,” Margaery says, her brow furrowed. “Don’t you have bubbles? Something? This is a time for pampering.”

“No,” Brienne says. “Why would I have that?”

The women sigh in unison.

“Oh!” Gilly says and runs out, returning with something she tosses in the tub. It turns the water orange and smells strongly of citrus and cinnamon. 

“Pumpkin spice,” Gilly says. “It’s very moisturizing.” 

“You need better bath products,” Margaery says. “This is just sad. How have I not fixed this before?”

“It’s fine,” Brienne says, as she settles into the tub, cast balanced on the edge. She can’t feel any difference from whatever Gilly added, aside from the scent filling the room. 

Brienne may not have bubble bath, but she’s once again grateful that she sprang for the expensive, extra deep bathtub when she renovated the master bath. It’s deep enough that even her long limbs are mostly covered by water, and she can sink in up to her neck.

“Conditioner, Brienne,” Dany says, rolling her eyes. “You complain about your hair but this is very easy to fix.”

She dashes off and returns with several containers that she waves at Brienne. One of them is alarmingly purple, but Daenerys assures her it won’t dye her hair, and is meant to brighten blonde hair. Dany tosses her platinum curls in emphasis before scrubbing Brienne’s scalp. It smells like flowers.

“Now, normally, I’d use this,” Dany says, shoving another container under Brienne’s nose. That one smells like strawberries and vanilla. “But I don’t know when you last conditioned, so we’re going to bring out the big guns.”

She slathers Brienne’s hair with another floral product and makes her sit with it for a while. 

“I’m not good at this kind of thing,” Brienne says. “Besides, what’s the point? I’m never going to look like any of you.”

“No,” Margaery agrees, from where she’s perched on the counter. “But nobody’s asking you to put on a face of makeup. This is just taking care of yourself.” 

Dany hums her agreement.

“I know you don’t like to admit to being girly,” she says. “But there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself well. You think Jaime doesn’t use conditioner? Drogo definitely does.”

Brienne can’t help laughing at the thought of Drogo sitting there with this floral mess on his long hair. It is longer than hers, certainly. 

“It’s not that I don’t like girly things,” Brienne says. “They’re just not for me.”

“Nonsense,” Gilly says. “Nobody else gets to decide what’s for you.”

There’s a set to her jaw that says she’s not unfamiliar with other people telling her who she should be, and Brienne wonders about what prompted Gilly to move in. It was bad, she knows, but she hasn’t wanted to pry.

“Now,” Margaery says, while Dany starts rinsing Brienne’s hair. “I’m going to need all the details about the bonfire, because what I saw was very interesting …”

By the time Brienne is deemed scrubbed and pampered enough to be allowed to leave the bath, she smells like a flower garden and has been made to use more bath products in the past hour than she has in her entire life. 

Her friends seem satisfied, though, and between the four of them, they manage to get Brienne dressed again, though she has to sacrifice one of her shirts as Gilly cuts the sleeve so she can get her cast through. 

Brienne is somehow both surprised and not to find Jaime waiting by the porch when they go down. Brienne can’t help noticing how attractive he is, yet again. It doesn’t feel real that he’s waiting here for her, but she’s definitely not on narcotics this time, even though she’s paying for it with a dull, throbbing ache in her arm. 

Her housemates scatter, Dany flinging herself at Drogo, who catches her around his waist effortlessly, and Brienne’s left with Jaime.

Jaime slips his hand into hers as they walk down the street. There are a shocking number of people turned out for the pumpkin carving contest, at least when it comes to adults.

Jaime doesn’t let go of her hand when they get closer. It’s strange to have him next to her like this, and stranger still that nobody else seems to bat an eyelash, while Brienne feels as if her whole world has been turned on its head.

“How’s the arm?” Jaime asks after a while, watching Arya stab a pumpkin violently with a knife. 

“Sore,” Brienne admits. 

“Too bad they don’t have something to help with that,” Jaime says, glancing over at her. “Some kind of pill or something …”

“I don’t like being drugged,” Brienne says. “It’s confusing. And I say things I shouldn’t.” 

“No, you say things you should,” Jaime snaps. Then he sighs, pulling her over to one of the benches. 

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” Brienne says.

“I don’t feel _sorry_ for you,” Jaime says. He looks angry but his hand is still in hers, warm and clutching at her fingers like he’s afraid she’s going to let go.

“I don’t understand,” Brienne admits. 

“Stubborn,” Jaime says. “Good thing that’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Have you hit your head?” Brienne asks. “Is that it?”

“Only if it happened four years ago,” Jaime says. 

Brienne blinks at him. Four years is when she moved here. Four years is when she met Jaime, sarcastic and annoying and arrogant. This makes even less sense by the moment. 

“I’m not lying,”Jaime says, looking hurt. “And I’m not injured or drugged or drunk or whatever other excuse you’re thinking up in that thick skull of yours.”

“I don’t understand,” Brienne admits. 

“I like you,” Jaime says. “I thought you liked me. What’s there to understand?”

“I’m me,” Brienne says. “And you’re…”

“Charming? Intelligent? Rich?” 

“Handsome,” Brienne says, gritting her teeth. 

Jaime grins at her. “I’m so glad you noticed.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Does it need to?” 

It probably doesn’t, if Brienne is being honest. If attraction made sense, she wouldn’t always fall for pretty men, far out of her league. If it made sense, she’d be attracted to some of the ugly but kind men she’s been set up with in the past, matched sets of desperation and few prospects.

Those men hadn’t liked her any more than she’d liked them, even if it made logical sense.

“If it’s me,” Jaime says, looking away. “If you don’t have any interest in me, just tell me and I’ll …I’ll stop. I’ll go away.” 

The thought of not seeing Jaime makes Brienne’s heart clench.

“I do,” Brienne says. She holds her breath, still half-expecting someone to burst out of the bushes, laughing and telling her how stupid it was to believe any of this. 

Instead, she gets Jaime beaming at her, like she’s offered him something amazing. Instead of her inexperienced, awkward, ugly self.

The afternoon passes in a blur. Even if she’s still in pain, her arm throbbing, it’s nice. Jaime sticks to her side, which, Brienne realizes, isn’t actually that different than most of the times they’re together. Only he’s holding her hand and pulling her close and just _looking_ at her sometimes, in a way Brienne never thought anyone ever would.

Like she’s special. Like she’s precious. Like she’s worth something.

It lifts her in a haze of happiness and it doesn’t go away. Not even when she’s stuck at home, bored out of her mind and forced into inactivity. Even when Drogo seems to be taking up semi-permanent residence in her house, steadfastly refusing to put a shirt on when he’s joining them for breakfast.

Brienne’s asked Dany to make him, but she’s gotten no support from Gilly or Margaery, who seem to enjoy it. 

Jaime comes over to check on her most evenings when he gets off work, kissing her on the cheek and bringing dinner. 

He hasn’t kissed her since the bonfire, not really, just light kisses on her cheek or her forehead that still make Brienne feel too warm and restless. 

“You have to keep dating Jaime,” Gilly says, after he brings take out from one of the best restaurants in Westeros.

“How soon can you get him to move in?” Margaery says, in between bites of truffle mac and cheese and rare filet. “I don’t care how loud the sex is, if he does this all the time, it’ll be worth it.”

Brienne’s cheeks flame at the thought. 

It’s bad enough hearing Dany and Drogo, on nights when her white noise machine doesn’t do enough to mask their enjoyment, thinking of her and Jaime in that way makes her mind go blank.

Brienne can’t imagine making the kinds of sounds Dany makes and she definitely can’t imagine things happening for as long as they seem to, some nights.

“It’s not – I don’t know if he would –,” Brienne says. “He hasn’t even kissed me again.”

“Because you look like a scared rabbit every time he comes near you,” Margaery says bluntly. “Not because he doesn’t want you.”

“Also, you’re hurt,” Gilly says, more practically. “He doesn’t want to leave you in pain.”

“You’d need to be on top,” Dany says, tilting her head like she’s working out a complex problem. “Maybe on your good side, if you’re careful.”

“Oh my god,” Brienne says. “Dany, you can’t just …”

“Easier than a broken leg,” Margaery says. “Ski trip. Very hot ski instructor. One hundred percent worth it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drink glass is a thing my friends did at my also very small 21st birthday. Which is why I have a martini glass (from a Cosmo, it was 2004, Sex And the City was very big, what can I say? they're terrible, though, IMO) that has 'suck a dick' scrawled on it in Sharpie. 
> 
> The tiara and cross stitch birthday may need to be a story by itself.
> 
> Brienne is going with my school of pain management, which is narcotics make me feel terrible so screw it, give me a small handful of advil and I'll suck it up. 
> 
> Jaime is fully AWARE he shouldn't be having conversations so vulnerable with drugged Brienne, but he can't get sober Brienne to talk sooo.
> 
> I don't know about you, but I regularly get stuck getting into or out of sports bras without a cast or the influence of mind-altering substances so I assume it would be very challenging. Also, doubly so when all her helpers are shorter. I imagine Dany or Gilly is standing up on the bed on tiptoes as well.
> 
> Dany and Gilly are breaking out the Lush supplies. The pumpkin is a bath melt they sell at Halloween, the shampoo is Daddy-O, which is supposed to brighten grey or blond hair, IDK I'm a brunette and unnatural redhead or bright colors kinda girl. The conditions are American Cream and Retread. Retread is amazing. If I had money, it would be all I used. I imagine Dany also talked Brienne into using the Buffy scrubber and Conga shower slime. Probably the Dream Cream lotion too.
> 
> Shireen wins the child division pumpkin carving, and earns herself several batches of Cat's secret recipe cookies. Beric Dondarrian, surprisingly, wins the adult version with a vaguely Cthulu-esque carving (the night is dark and full of terrors) and gets several months worth of old Aemon's homebaked bread, which is amazingly delicious.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Block parties and dances.

By the time Friday rolls around, Brienne can't even look at Jaime without turning a brilliant shade of red. Margaery decides the solution is to bring flasks full of whipped cream vodka and play the official _Hocus Pocus_ drinking game. Which is a thing that exists.

Brienne goes along with it, if only to distract herself from the fact that Margaery starts looking over at her and giggling everytime someone on screen says “virgin.”

That is a conversation she hasn't had with Jaime, and she's dreading, so Brienne hopes ignoring it will work. 

By the time the Sanderson sisters are bewitching Salem with song, Brienne is giggling every few minutes (she _never_ giggles) and listing so far to one side that Jaime pulls her between his legs to steady her against his chest.

It's nice and warm with Jaime a solid support behind her back, his arms and legs wrapping around her. Brienne thinks she should feel trapped, but it just feels safe. 

She informs Jaime of this, very solemnly, after the movie ends. Dany is busy reflecting, with some consternation, on how attractive Thackery Binx is, much to Drogo's entertainment. 

Then Margaery is taking Brienne's face in her hands, and making her promise not to light any black flame candles. Brienne feels Jaime tense behind her at that, but she's far too floaty to care much about it. Although part of her thinks she probably should.

She's far more embarrassed about the way she jumps at nearly every scare in _Amityville Horror_. It's far from the scariest movie, and she can watch_ The Exorcist_ without flinching, but something about this one – especially the flashes of ghosts – has her cringing and curling into Jaime's chest. 

He’s hiding his face in her hair, though, just like he did in previous weeks, so Brienne doesn’t feel too bad.

Brienne tries to tune out Margaery and Dany’s discussion of how she and Gilly would be the perfect Final Girls for a horror movie. Jaime is smirking against her hair.

“It’s just, you’re both so good,” Margaery says earnestly. 

“And you wouldn’t be screwing anyone when you’re supposed to be babysitting,” Dany adds. “Or taking your top off.”

Dany gestures at herself, and the fact that she has lost her own shirt at some point in the evening and seems utterly unashamed at only having Drogo’s hands covering her breasts. Barely.

Margaery looks at Dany. 

"I would take my top off," she says, and starts doing just that.

Brienne feels Jaime press his face into her hair, as Margaery struggles out of her sweater, waving it over her head like a prize.

"Why do drunk people always want to get naked?" Jaime asks. 

"Naked is good," Dany says, nodding emphatically. "Except in horror movies. Then you die."

"Brienne wouldn't die," Margaery says again.

"I would survive because I would fight," Brienne finally says. The words feel heavy and large in her mouth, and she's having trouble focusing.

"I don't know," Jaime says, sounding like he's hardly holding back laughter. "You're pretty drunk. Isn't one of the rules of horror movies not drinking?"

Brienne twists to face him, scowling. The world spins as she does it, and she feels like she's going to fall off even though she's sitting down.

"I'm not drunk," she says. 

"I think you are," Jaime says, lowering his voice. "Although, for the record, any time you want to take your shirt off, I'm certainly not going to complain."

One of his hands sneaks under the hem as he speaks, stroking gently along her waist. 

Brienne squeaks. 

"We're in public!"

"I didn't mean you have to do it here," Jaime says, his fingers creeping up higher every time he runs his hand along her skin.

Brienne never really considered her side an erogenous zone – she's never really thought about where erogenous zones are really, other than the obvious. But Jaime's hand, gentle and tame as it is, is lighting all her nerves on fire.

"No," Brienne agrees. "We should go back."

She struggles to her feet, tugging Jaime along with her, although he's suddenly looking somewhat alarmed.

The street seems to be shifting as Brienne tries to walk home, and she has to lean on Jaime to stay on her feet until they get to her house. 

"Brienne," Jaime says, as she's heading upstairs and refusing to let go of his hand. "I was just teasing you, you don't have to do anything."

Brienne blinks at him. Jaime is swaying slightly. Oh, wait, no that's her.

"But we're not in public," she says, yanking on the hem of her shirt with one hand.

Having a cast on makes taking her shirt off far too difficult.

"Help me," she tells Jaime. 

"I don't know if this is a good idea," he says, looking mildly panicked. 

Brienne frowns, still tugging at her shirt, trying to keep one side from falling back down so she can get the other one up.

"But you said ..." she looks at Jaime. "I thought – did you change your mind about me?"

Her voice sounds so small and she hates it. She's still yanking at the hem of her shirt though, because it's hot in here, and her clothes feel too tight suddenly.

"It's okay if you have," she says, because it's not like she doesn't expect that he will someday. "I understand."

That doesn't mean she doesn't feel like a heavy weight is crushing her chest.

"What? No! Brienne, you're drunk," Jaime says. 

Brienne finally succeeds in dragging her shirt over her head, with a sigh of relief.

Jaime has opened his mouth to say something else, but snaps it shut. It seems like he's trying to keep his eyes on hers, but his gaze keeps dropping down to her chest and oh, that's right, Brienne isn't wearing a bra. It's too hard to get into one with her cast.

"I think you should go to bed," Jaime says, sounding strangled. "And we can talk about this in the morning."

"You haven't kissed me," Brienne says, remembering her earlier conversation with Margaery. She tries to move towards him, but she's still having trouble walking.

"Uh," Jaime says, catching her around the waist. 

"Margr ... Margar....Marge said I should kiss you," Brienne says, squinting down at him. 

Jaime has one hand on her waist, holding her steady, but the fingers on his other hand are tracing the lines of her ribs, moving upwards slowly. He has a dazed look on his face, like he's not entirely sure what's happening.

That's okay, because Brienne isn't entirely sure either. 

"But I don't know how," Brienne tells him. "And I'm going to be bad at it and I'm a Final Girl who doesn't take her shirt off -"

"Your shirt is off," Jaime says, tracing along the underside of her breast, feather-light. 

"And I don't know what I'm doing and you're going to be bored and decide I'm not worth it," Brienne says, sniffling slightly.

That seems to snap Jaime out of whatever daze he's been in, and he pulls his hand away. Brienne leans forward like a plant bending towards the sun, her body arcing towards him.

Jaime doesn't touch her again, though, no more than a light and deliberately chaste touch on her hips to help her stay steady as he helps her into bed. The last thing Brienne remembers is his hand smoothing her hair back, before she drifts off.

It doesn't come back to her, not fully, until she's slumped at the kitchen table glaring at Margaery and poking at the plate of eggs, bacon, and extra greasy potatoes Drogo has put in front of her, swearing it will help.

Brienne's head hits the wood with a loud thunk, which absolutely doesn't help her headache at all, and wonders if there's enough room in the backyard to bury the bodies of all three of her housemates.

Any prayer she had of Jaime forgetting the previous night is forgotten when he shows up for the block party, looking unfairly put together and grinning at her.

"Good morning, Final Girl," he says. 

He catches her hand before she can run back inside and hide. 

"I hate you," Brienne says.

"I take it you remember last night, then," Jaime says. 

"What will it take you to never mention it again." Brienne avoids his eyes, mentally bracing herself.

"No chance of that," Jaime says cheerfully. "That image is going to be burned into my brain forever."

Brienne stares at the Stark’s yard over his shoulder. The haunted house set up is almost complete, places set where various family members will lie in wait to scare children coming up the path. Ned’s favorite is the fake guillotine. 

“Please stop,” Brienne says.

Jaime just laughs, and links his arm with hers. 

The block party is a rousing success. As usual for big events, the Winterfell Block Association has invited other neighborhoods to attend, and the street is overflowing with shrieking children and laughing adults.

Varys has finally removed the tents from his yard to reveal a Halloween carnival. There’s a haunted carousel, horses painted as skeletons under jeweled saddles, spinning lazily on one corner, and a ticket stand hosting a remarkably well-made ghoul. There’s even a fortune-telling booth, which Varys has lured Melisandre into manning. 

It’s far too purple and glittery for Brienne’s taste, but she has to admit it’s well done. She can’t help nudging Jaime in the side as they pass. 

“Still sure you’re going to win?” she asks.

Jaime scowls at her. 

“Our yard is far superior,” he mutters. “Just wait.”

The block is full of tables with themed food and drinks, which range from the adorable (ghostly mini cheesecakes) to the downright horrifying (a cake that looks like a disturbingly realistic flayed skull). Brienne tries not to be self-conscious, this isn’t the first time Jaime has been affectionate in public, but it’s somehow different in daylight.

She sees Talisa’s look of disbelief at their joined hands as they walk past the bobbing for apples game, where Lyanna and Shireen are giggling, their long hair soaked from their efforts.

She hears Pyp muttering something to Olyvar after Jaime tugs her close, his lips coated in sticky black caramel from his “poisoned” apple, smearing the sugary dye over her face as he kisses her cheek, laughing at her attempts to evade him. Brienne doesn’t catch it all, but she hears _ugly_ and _desperate_ and can fill in the rest without much effort. 

Brienne notices the way Shae’s eyes widen when she spots Jaime and Brienne, after Jaime insists on playing pumpkin golf and dramatically asks Brienne for a good luck kiss.

Even Maege and Howland look surprised when they run into the pair chatting by the hot apple cider. Jaime doesn’t move his arm from around Brienne’s waist the entire time, resting his head on her shoulder like this is where he belongs.

Brienne knows Jaime notices how tense she’s becoming, because he leads her away, past the table where Davos is dispensing Halloween cocktails to adults. Brienne considers grabbing one, but the thought makes her stomach roll unpleasantly. 

They’re almost away from the crowd when they pass by Ramsay Bolton, who is carrying a large, bloody knife that Brienne is 99% certain is real and dangerous, and he bursts into loud laughter at the sight of them. 

“Lannister, I had no idea you were a pig fucker,” he says, between guffaws. 

Brienne has to use all of her strength to keep Jaime from lunging at Ramsay. 

“Words are wind,” she tells Jaime, who is looking murderous. “They don’t mean anything.”

It’s a motto Brienne has tried to live by, since she figured out that she was never going to be free of insults and taunts. But she can’t help the warm feeling that spreads through her at the way Jaime’s jumped to her defense.

She can’t remember the last time someone did that. Even Margaery tends to ignore the things people say and reassure Brienne in private, much like her father did when she was growing up. 

Ramsay strolls off, looking terribly pleased for having provoked a reaction, and Brienne sighs. 

“You can’t get upset every time someone insults me,” she says.

“Watch me,” Jaime replies, still staring after Ramsay. 

“You’ll never rest,” Brienne says, and that’s what gets Jaime to turn back to her, looking sad. Brienne just shrugs.

It puts a damper on the rest of the day, and Brienne feels ungainly and awkward next to Jaime, even though he insists on her staying for the official lawn competition. 

Brienne doesn’t know the man that’s been brought in to be the impartial judge. One of Catelyn’s coworkers, she thinks. Or Ned’s. 

The street, Brienne has to admit, is impressive. Every house is decorated to the nines, ranging from Varys’ fantastical carnival to the Bolton’s entirely-too-realistic bloody slasher movie theme. 

Then they reach the Lannister house. 

Brienne has seen the yard coming together, but Tyrion disappears inside and does something and suddenly it’s transformed into something almost magical.

The spooky figure and hearse are lit with soft lights, and strings of small white lights are draped through the trees, giving the whole place a shimmering glow. There’s soft piano music playing, almost as if it’s coming from the instrument installed out front, which Tysha has filled with plants and flowers. The ghosts that had seemed somewhat plain in daylight spring to life, more tiny lights and painted wire making them seem to waltz across the yard. 

Then Jaime is turning to her, hand out.

“May I have this dance?” 

Brienne stares at him for a moment like he’s speaking another language. 

“I can’t dance,” she says.

“Sure you can,” Jaime says, and, as usual, doesn’t listen to her protests before pulling her into his arms. 

Brienne feels awkward and ungainly, and she’s uncomfortably aware of the people around them, even though most of them are directing their attention at the fireworks that Drogo has started setting off as planned. 

It feels like a movie, it feels like the kind of thing that doesn’t happen. Not to Brienne. 

“You said last night I hadn’t kissed you,” Jaime says softly. 

“It’s okay,” Brienne says,“It’s not … I don’t expect … if you change your mind –”

“It isn’t because I don’t want to,” Jaime says, slowing down so they’re barely moving. “I just didn’t want to push you.”

The tenderness and care in his eyes is so intense Brienne has to close her own briefly, because she can’t think when he’s looking at her like that. 

“If you don’t push me, nothing will ever happen,” she finally says. “I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“You’ll tell me to stop,” Jaime says. “If I push too much? Not just run away?”

“I’ll try,” is the best she can manage.

“That’s a start,” Jaime says. 

When he kisses her again, it feels like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why DO drunk people like to get naked?
> 
> Whipped cream vodka is oddly delicious. Especially when added to hot chocolate.
> 
> I was sick and unable to FULLY test the [Hocus Pocus](https://spoonuniversity.com/lifestyle/hocus-pocus-drinking-game) drinking game for science, but this feels like a reasonable point for someone who is a lightweight to be feeling it. I was, even with teeny tiny sips, and while I'm much smaller than Brienne, I've probably trained my liver to take much more abuse. (Sorry, liver.)
> 
> They're watching the 2005 Amityville Horror with Ryan Reynolds. Which freaks me out in inexplicable ways. Also, did you know, they really had the eight year old up on a roof? In a harness, but still.
> 
> Drogo Khal: Eye candy, shirt, and short-order cook. If I can't have Jaime, can I get a Drogo?
> 
> There's a Pinterest board for the yards linked in chapter 1, so yeah, I didn't get around to creating images, but that'll tell you more on the yards and also the party. 
> 
> The winner is a tie between Varys and the Lannisters. Partly because both are great, and party because Cat nudged the judge towards a tie, simply for the amusement of imagining a dinner party with Tyrion, his wife Tysha, and Jaime, plus Varys and his current tenants, Sandor Clegane, Hot Pie (who is cooking his own dinner, sorry Hot Pie!) and Jaqen H'gar. Nobody is quite sure WHY Varys lets rooms, but they always seem to go to people who, in retrospect, have some sort of skill or power that he can benefit from. Or are very pretty men. 
> 
> Next up: Thanksgiving!

**Author's Note:**

> Title is, obviously, from Hocus Pocus, aka the BEST HALLOWEEN MOVIE EVER.
> 
> There's also a [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/quirkyknitgirl/winterfell-halloween-fic/), because like Jaime, I am extra.


End file.
